Pastures Of Plenty - Odetta
Written by：Woody Guthrie
It's a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road
Out of your Dust Bowl and Westward we rolled
Your deserts were so hot and your mountains were so cold
On the edge of your city you'll see me and then
I come with the dust and I'm gone with the wind
California Arizona I work on your crops
Well its North up to Oregon to gather your hops
Dig the beets from your ground cut the grapes from your vine
To set on your table your light sparkling wine
Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down
Every state in the Union migrants have been
We come with the dust and we're gone with the wind
It's always we rambled that river and I
All along your green valley I will work till I die
Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free
On the edge of your city you'll see me and then
I come with the dust and I'm gone with the wind
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